Monday, September 29, 2014

As a handmade artist, there have been moments where I have lacked inspiration and
motivation. But only momentarily. For a day, for a week. Nothing a little mini
vacation or break couldn't remedy. For the past few months I've meditated, prayed, begged for the inspiration to come back. Tried to dig deep to remember the ways I once triggered it. Nothing.

This year has been a very trying year for our family. A year of struggle, of
year of financial instability, a year of loss, a year of heartbreak. And
somewhere in between all of that I lost my motivation and inspiration. And for me, that was unbelievably
scary. For someone who has spent the last 20 years of her life creating and sadly
can't find the will to even step into her workspace, it really does a number on your psyche.

Seven weeks ago we found out we are pregnant with baby number two. We learned about our little blessing
after we had decided that we were happy with our family of three. We were no
longer going to try to grow our family. Two long years of disappointment, failed
attempt after failed attempt, trips to the hospital for hopeful medical
procedures followed by trips to the hospital for hopeless procedures... nights
spent talking to my husband, questioning why? And just as many nights spent painfully not
talking about it.
We gave up the fight and a huge weight was lifted. One month later, I was surprised with the present of
nausea, morning after unbelievable morning. Truly a baffling gift.

God is funny that way.

Now that I'm in my second trimester I'm beginning to recognize myself again. I'm no longer chained to my bed. No longer walking around the house aimlessly, yet with plenty to do. Desperate
to get back that inspiration. To move on, to move forward, to truly cherish and run with this amazing second adventure we've been given.

Depression is a hole, a drowning darkness. So many things were lost in
that darkness this year. My love for creating, even my love for music. My care for keeping up with relationships. My appearance even. My kindle full of books sat untouched for ages, its battery left dead. My kitchen and love for cooking, rusty. Everything I loved became dusty. I couldn't shown my face in public. Being an extremely private person when it comes to the less than happy parts of my life, I became a recluse. For those friends who stuck around, who understood that whatever it was I was going through, I'd be back. For that I'm forever thankful. Today I'm in my workspace. My cluttered, colorful, bead-laden workspace. The
window is open and natural light is pouring through. KLove is streaming through
the computer speakers, reminding me that there's hope and a new day waiting to be LIVED.